The weeks passed in a strange rhythm, a blend of routine survival and something new that no one in the group could quite put their finger on. Yve, ever the quick learner, absorbed everything around her like a sponge, eager to understand this chaotic world she'd stepped into. Whether it was learning how to navigate tasks like cleaning, scavenging techniques, or understanding the group's dynamics, she threw herself into it all with enthusiasm that was hard to ignore. And through it all, Dylan was never far behind.
He shadowed her like an unspoken guardian, watchful for any signs of trouble. The uncharacteristic tenderness he showed toward Yve didn't go unnoticed. The group exchanged knowing glances and quiet whispers, their disbelief nearly palpable. Dylan Pierce—stoic, gruff, fiercely independent—was acting like a man transformed. Every quiet word of instruction, every careful gesture to help Yve when she stumbled, left the others wondering what exactly this mysterious woman had done to him.
One morning, the scent of cooking drifted through the air, drawing Yve toward the kitchen. She paused at the doorway, watching Elena and Taylor work in quiet tandem. Elena stirred a pot over a small flame while Taylor chopped vegetables with practiced ease. The supplies the boys had scavenged were being turned into something warm.
Yve stepped closer. "Can I help?"
Both women looked up. Elena's eyes narrowed slightly, and Taylor's hands paused mid-chop. Though they'd grown more used to Yve's presence, the apocalypse had taught them to be cautious. Comfort didn't always mean trust.
Taylor was the first to speak. "You ever cooked before?"
Yve hesitated. "No. But I'd like to learn."
Elena exchanged a glance with Taylor, then handed Yve a knife. "Start with the carrots. Peel and slice. Carefully."
Yve peeled the carrot with far too much force, strips flying as Elena and Taylor exchanged looks. Taylor finally spoke, half incredulous. "Uh… Yve, have you never peeled a carrot before?"
Yve hesitated. Of course she hadn't—there were no carrots in the sea, and everything on land was new to her. "Not really," she admitted.
Taylor guided her hand, and Yve followed, clumsy but willing. The irony wasn't lost: a siren who could slice a shark in half now starting from scratch just to peel a carrot. Taylor stifled a laugh. "You're not fighting it, Yve. Just guide the blade."
Yve nodded, biting her lip in concentration. She managed a few decent slices before accidentally knocking over a bowl of chopped onions. The pieces scattered across the floor like confetti. "Oops."
Taylor sighed, but a smile tugged at her lips. "We'll call that… progress."
Despite the mess, neither woman raised her voice. Elena offered quiet corrections, and Taylor shared small tips between tasks. Yve listened, learned, and laughed, especially when she somehow got a smear of tomato paste on her cheek.
As the stew simmered and the vegetables were finally prepped, the three women settled into a quieter rhythm. The tension had eased, replaced by something softer.
Taylor broke the silence first. "I worry about Lucas all the time," she said, her voice low. "He acts like he's made of stone, but I see it. The weight. The fear. And Tyler… he's just a kid. He shouldn't have to grow up like this."
Elena nodded, hands still busy with the pot. "Same with Lily. She's strong, but… she's still a little girl. I keep wondering if I'm doing enough. If I'm enough."
Yve looked between them. "You are. Both of you. You're still here. They're still here. That means something."
Taylor gave a small smile. "You always talk like that. Like you've seen more than you let on."
"I have," Yve said softly. "But I've also seen what love looks like. And it's in everything you do."
Elena chuckled. "You're a strange one, Yve."
"I get that a lot," Yve replied. They shared a quiet laugh.
Taylor leaned back against the counter, wiping her hands on a cloth. "You know, I used to hate cooking. Now it's the only time I feel like I'm doing something normal."
"Same," Elena added. "Even if it's just boiling water or making soup out of scraps."
Yve smiled. "Then I'm glad I got to be part of it. Even if I nearly destroyed your kitchen."
Taylor nudged her playfully. "You'll get there. Just don't touch anything unsupervised."
Yve's apron was stained, her pride a little bruised, but she was grinning. "Alright," she said, wiping her hands. "I didn't burn anything. That's a win, right?"
Taylor chuckled. "You didn't burn the kitchen down. That's a miracle."
Elena gave a rare smile. "You did good."
The stew was finally ready, its aroma filling the room. Elena gave the pot one last stir, then turned to Yve. "Can you call the others? Food's ready."
Yve nodded. "On it."
As soon as she was gone, Elena leaned against the counter, expression thoughtful. "There's something strange about her."
Taylor glanced up from setting out bowls. "You feel it too?"
Elena nodded slowly. "It's not bad. I don't feel threatened. But… there's something off. Like she's not telling us everything."
Taylor sighed. "Yeah. She's kind, helpful, good with the kids… but there's this weight to her. Like she's hiding something big and we're only seeing the surface."
Elena crossed her arms. "I don't want to judge her too quickly. She's been nothing but respectful. But I've learned to trust my gut."
Taylor gave a small smile. "Same. But then I see her with Tyler and Lily… have you seen the way they laugh when she plays with them? Maybe that's a sign she's okay."
"Maybe," Elena said, tone cautious. "Or maybe she's just good at hiding things."
~~~
Around midmorning, Tyler sat cross-legged beside Yve. "So you're really from the ocean? Like… a mermaid?" His tone was skeptical but tinged with hope.
Lily, ever the dreamer, gasped, hands clasped together. "What was it like? Were there tridents? And witches? Like in the movies?"
Yve smiled warmly, gaze distant, as though she could still see the shimmering waves of her world. The children hung on every word, oblivious to the occasional protective glance Dylan shot their way from across the room.
The rest of the group, though skeptical at first, gradually began to lower their guard. Lucas, cautiously observing her since day one, eventually greeted her when they bumped into each other—a small sign she was becoming one of them. Even David, ever suspicious, had stopped questioning her presence, though he still raised a brow at Dylan's unusually protective attitude.
It was Ethan who voiced what everyone else was silently thinking during dinner. "Man," he muttered, glancing at Dylan out of the corner of his eye, "never thought I'd see the day Dylan Pierce… protector, teacher, caretaker?" His tone was teasing, but his grin held genuine curiosity.
Dylan shot him a withering glare. "Shut it," he growled, though the slight twitch of his jaw betrayed his discomfort.
Still, no matter how much the group speculated, one thing was clear: Yve had made her way into their strange little family.
Later that night, huge solar panels stretched across the rooftop like a glass field. Dylan patrolled the corner, eyes scanning the treeline, while Lucas stood beside him, arms folded, the hum of distant generators filling the quiet.
Then the rooftop door creaked open.
Yve appeared, balancing two steaming mugs and a pair of folded blankets. "Thought you two could use these," she said, handing each of them a cup and setting the blankets on the bench between them.
Lucas accepted his mug with a grateful nod. "Thanks, Yve."
Dylan took his, eyeing her. "Ain't you supposed to be asleep?"
She shrugged, settling on the edge of the platform. "Can't sleep."
Lucas took a sip and raised an eyebrow. "You know, for someone who can't cook, you make a damn good cup of coffee."
Yve smirked. "I'm working on the cooking thing."
Dylan took a cautious sip, then blinked. "Yeah… it's fine, I guess."
Yve hugged her knees to her chest, watching them quietly. Lucas leaned against the railing, his tone steady but softer than usual. "Before everything fell apart… I was one of the engineers building this facility. Just a few days before the world died, the Chief changed the plan—wanted the back building converted into a mobility wing. If the structure had been finished, tearing it down would've taken weeks."
Dylan grunted shortly, arms crossed. "Yeah… you guys did it though." He shifted, voice low and rough. "Can't believe Derek was my last mission… could've done better."
Lucas shook his head, steady. "You did. You kept him alive this long. That counts."
Both men turned to Yve, who was listening with wide-eyed focus. Lucas tilted his head. "What about you, Yve? What was your job before the collapse?"
The question hit her like a stone. She froze, mind scrambling. A siren had no place in their world of titles and trades. After a long pause, she stammered, "Well… I, uh… I was a hunter."
Lucas frowned, curiosity sharpening. "Hunter? Like… a bounty hunter?"
Yve chewed on the words, twisting them until they fit. Was bounty hunting what humans called searching for treasures buried deep in the ocean? She forced a smile. "Yeah… that's what I did. Started as a hobby, but then my village came to me with requests and… I just couldn't say no."
Lucas blinked, dumbfounded, picturing her chasing fugitives across city streets. Dylan stayed quiet, but the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed him. He knew the truth—knew Yve's "hunting" was nothing like bounty work. Watching her lie through her teeth, awkward and earnest, he found it both funny and strangely endearing.
Lucas tilted his head, brows furrowed. "Your village came to you with requests? What kind of bounty hunting was that—avenge people?"
Yve frowned, shaking her head quickly. "No… no, no. Why would I hunt to exact vengeance for them? They already do that themselves."
Lucas blinked, even more puzzled, pressing gently. "I—I don't get it. You just said people came to you with requests?"
Yve scrambled, words tumbling out. "Yeah, they did. And I'd honor those requests by hunting—searching for the very thing they wanted. I'd find it, and if I had to take it by force, I would. Bring it back to them. Everybody's happy."
Lucas stared, confusion deepening, about to push further. Dylan cut in with a low growl, arms crossed. "Don't push her. She's said enough."
Lucas shook his head slowly, the weight of his thoughts pressing through his words. "Fine. I'm sorry. It's just… I'm an engineer. I solve puzzles, put pieces together, and you, Yve… you don't fit the picture."
Yve lowered her gaze, hugging her knees tighter, voice soft but steady. "It's okay. I understand."
Dylan didn't relax until Lucas finally stopped. He shifted on the bench, stretching his back with a grunt. In doing so, his elbow nudged the cup of coffee beside him.
It tipped.
Lucas turned, expecting the usual—ceramic shattering, hot liquid everywhere, maybe a muttered curse.
But instead—
Yve moved. In a blink, she snatched the falling cup midair. With a flick of her wrist and a fluid twist of her arm, she angled it back under the stream of coffee—catching every drop before it could hit the floor.
Not a single spill. She calmly set the cup back on the bench, upright, half-full, steaming as if nothing had happened.
Lucas stared, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. "…What the hell," he muttered. Dylan didn't flinch, arms crossed, like he'd seen it a hundred times before.
Lucas looked between them. "Did—did she just catch a falling cup… and the coffee? With the same cup?"
Yve gave a small, sheepish smile. "Reflex."
Lucas blinked. "That's not reflex. That's… impossible."
Yve shrugged. "I've had practice."
Lucas stared at her, mind racing. "You're not telling me everything."
Dylan gave a low grunt. "She never does."
Lucas stepped closer, eyes narrowing—not hostile, just intensely curious. "No. No, no, no. That was precise. Like… engineered precision. You didn't even flinch. You moved before the cup even hit the halfway point."
Dylan shifted on the bench, posture tightening. Lucas didn't stop. "You've got balance, timing, coordination… hell, even better than military-grade training. What gives?"
Yve opened her mouth, but no words came. Lucas leaned in slightly, voice softer now. "Yve… who are you, really?"
Dylan stood. Lucas held up a hand. "I'm not accusing. I'm just trying to understand. She's not like the rest of us. She moves different. She is different."
Yve looked down, fingers tightening around the edge of the bench.
Then—a shriek. Distant, sharp, echoing from the treeline beyond the fence. All three froze. Dylan turned toward the sound, already reaching for his tomahawk. "That's close."
Yve's eyes flicked to the trees. "A shrieker?"
"Maybe more than one," Dylan muttered. "We should check the perimeter."
Lucas gave a hesitant nod and followed close behind as they descended the rooftop.
The night air was thick as they moved along the perimeter fence, flashlights slicing narrow beams through the darkness. Lucas paused near the eastern gate, scanning the treeline. "We'll cover more ground if we split up," he said, voice low but steady.
Dylan hesitated half a second, then nodded. "Alright. You take the north side. We'll sweep south."
Lucas gave a short nod and disappeared into the shadows, rifle at the ready. Dylan turned, motioning for Yve to follow. "Stay close."
Dylan led the way, tomahawk in hand, eyes sharp and alert. Yve followed just behind, steps light, almost soundless.
After a few minutes, Dylan's voice cut quietly but firmly through the tension. "You need to be more careful."
Yve glanced at him. "About what?"
"Lucas," Dylan said without looking back. "He's smart. Sharp senses. He's already asking questions."
Yve exhaled slowly. "I know."
"He means well," Dylan added, "but he ain't gonna stop digging. That's just who he is."
Yve nodded. "I'll be more careful."
They moved through the perimeter, scanning for threats. Minutes passed with nothing. Dylan slowed, glancing over his shoulder. "False alarm, maybe."
Yve nodded, her breath puffing in the cool night air. "Let's head back."
They turned—but then Yve stopped. Her breath hitched, low and ragged, like a hiccup caught deep in her chest. She staggered, one hand clutching her chest.
Dylan spun just in time to see her knees buckle. "Yve!"
She collapsed, gasping—shallow, desperate pulls that barely reached her lungs. Her fingers clawed at the concrete as her body trembled.
Dylan dropped beside her, panic flashing across his face. "Yve—what's wrong?"
Her lips barely moved. "Water…"
That was enough. Without hesitation, Dylan scooped her into his arms, leaving his tomahawk behind. He ran through the compound, boots pounding against the tile.
Meanwhile, Lucas reached the spot where they'd split, expecting to see Dylan and Yve. Nothing. No movement, no voices—just the quiet hum of the fence and the distant chirp of insects.
Lucas frowned, scanning the shadows. "Dylan?"
Silence.
He checked his watch; they should have regrouped by now. A knot formed in his chest. Something wasn't right. He headed south.
Lucas moved quickly, flashlight sweeping the ground. Then he saw it.
Dylan's tomahawk. Lying on the cold concrete.
Lucas froze. Breath caught. He stepped forward cautiously, crouching to pick it up. The handle was warm—recently held—but Dylan and Yve were nowhere in sight. Dylan never left this behind. Not even for a second. And if he did… something had gone wrong.
He spun slowly, scanning for movement. That's when he saw it—the back door, slightly ajar. Dylan wasn't careless, and he sure as hell didn't leave doors open. Lucas sprinted toward it, heart hammering.
Meanwhile, Dylan barreled through the main corridor, Yve limp in his arms. Her breaths were shallow, ragged, each one weaker than the last. He didn't pause—not even to catch his own breath.
He rounded a corner, nearly slipping, and raced toward the utility wing. The water storage tanks were housed there—filtration, rationing, emergency reserves. "Stay with me," he muttered, voice tight, more to himself than to her.
He slammed his shoulder into the metal door. It gave way with a screech. Inside, rows of massive cylindrical tanks loomed in the dim light, each marked with faded numbers and maintenance codes.
His eyes darted across the room. Near the tanks, a maintenance station stood with a deep steel basin, hoses coiled neatly on the wall. Dylan lunged for it, twisting the valve until water surged through the line. The hose rattled, spraying cold streams into the basin.
"Hold on," he muttered, the basin filling, water sloshing against the sides. He lowered Yve carefully, arms straining, until she was fully submerged.
Her hair fanned out in the water, chest rising shallow but steady. Dylan crouched beside her, one hand gripping the edge, the other hovering near her shoulder. Jaw tight, voice rough, he muttered, "Breathe..."
Yve's breathing steadied, her tail swaying gently. "Thank you," she whispered.
Dylan let out a slow breath, gravel low. "You gotta keep track of time."
Guilt flickered in her eyes. "I didn't forget," she said quietly. "I was distracted. And Lucas…" She looked down. "He was asking too many questions… I didn't know how to answer without lying."
Dylan leaned closer, voice gentler now. "You owe him nothing."
"I know that," she said. "But still… I hate hiding."
The hallway was dim, lit only by the flashlight in Lucas's hands. He turned the corner where the outer hallway met the utility wing—and froze at a faint, almost imperceptible sound. He drew his shotgun, muscles tense, ready for whatever waited in the shadows.
Click.
The safety came off. Lucas moved forward, slow, controlled, every nerve alive. He pushed open the metal door—massive rows of cylindrical tanks blocking his view.
Then, from inside—
"I hate hiding," Yve's voice said. Raw. Honest. Lucas's grip on the shotgun tightened. His mind raced. What is she hiding? Why is Dylan involved? What aren't they telling me?
He didn't move closer. If he leaned out, Yve might catch him listening. He just waited in the dark, jaw clenched, heart thudding like a drum behind his ribs.
Down in the basin, Yve sat up. "I don't think I can keep this anymore, Dylan," she said quietly. "We need to tell them the truth."
Lucas lowered his shotgun, listening to every word. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
"We need to tell them the truth."
Questions piled in his head. What truth? What are they hiding? Why the secrecy?
He stepped back, turned down the hall, disappearing into shadow, the weight of suspicion clinging to his boots. The trust he'd been carefully building cracked, quiet and unseen.
The next morning, in the kitchen, Yve approached with a hopeful smile. "Hey… mind if I help again?"
Elena looked up and smiled. "Of course not. We could use another pair of hands."
Yve moved to the stove, taking over the pot as Elena handed her the ladle. She stirred carefully, tasting the soup, then reached for the salt. One pinch… two… three… by the time she finished, the salt jar was empty. She beamed proudly, completely oblivious.
Elena, busy opening a can of mushrooms, didn't notice. Taylor had stepped away to grab more bowls.
Finally, Yve ladled a small portion into a tin cup and handed it to Elena.
Elena took a cautious sip. Her eyes widened. Her face scrunched up. She coughed, sputtered, and waved her free hand frantically. "Yve! This… this could float a battleship!"
Taylor returned, pausing in horror at the sight. "What happened? Did the ocean attack the pot?"
Elena thrust the cup toward her. "Taste it if you dare."
Taylor took a sip. Her eyes bulged. "Oh… my… taste buds just filed a complaint."
Yve tilted her head, genuinely confused. She dipped a spoon into the pot and tasted it herself. Her eyes lit up. "Mmm! Wow! That's… amazing!"
Elena blinked. "Amazing? Yve… that's enough salt to survive the apocalypse twice over!"
Yve shrugged innocently. "Really? I thought it was just… flavorful."
Taylor leaned in, whispering to Elena, barely holding back a laugh. "She's smiling while committing a culinary crime."
Yve continued stirring happily, completely unfazed. "Should I add more pepper too?"
Elena groaned, rubbing her temples. "Somehow, I think she might actually enjoy this."
Taylor laughed, shaking her head. "Well… at least she's consistent!"
~~~
The cafeteria tables had been shoved together, forming a single stretch of scarred wood. The group began to gather, settling into their seats. Dylan dropped onto the bench next to Yve; barely a moment passed before Yve ladled a generous portion of the soup into his bowl.
"Here," she said brightly. "I seasoned it."
Dylan took a cautious sip. His face didn't move at first. Then his eye twitched.
Yve beamed. "See? Delicious, right?"
Dylan leaned in, low and gravelly. "Yve… people ain't built like you. Salt hits us different."
Her smile faltered. She lowered her gaze. "Sorry… I'll be more mindful."
Dylan reached out, tugging her chair back. "It's alright. Mistakes happen."
Yve's lips curved into a small, grateful smile as she sat. She scooped another spoonful from her own bowl, tasting it with quiet satisfaction.
Across the table, Taylor and Elena watched, horrified. Taylor whispered, "She's not human."
Elena nodded slowly. "I know… that's impossible."
The table buzzed with the clatter of spoons and casual chatter, except for Lucas, who barely touched his food. His spoon moved in slow, absent circles through the untouched soup, eyes flicking up now and then to watch Dylan and Yve whispering quietly.
Taylor leaned over, nudging him gently. "Hey. You've been chewing that same bite for five minutes. What's going on?"
Lucas shook his head, faint grunt escaping. "Nothing."
Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, huh?"
His fingers tightened on the spoon. "Just thinking."
Taylor turned back to her food, spoon tapping lightly against the rim of her bowl. She wouldn't push him—not now, not here. But she knew Dylan better than anyone. Something was eating at him.
At the far end of the table, Maurice leaned toward Dr. Jenkins, voice low but curious. "Doc," he said between bites, "you makin' any progress down there? On… y'know. A cure?"
Jenkins didn't look up right away, absently poking at his food. His eyes were tired, haunted. "Not yet," he said finally. "I've tried everything—retroviral agents, protein isolation, immune suppression trials. Still ends the same way."
Maurice frowned. "Damn."
"I'm slowly losing hope… but I won't stop," Jenkins added, lifting his gaze. "Not while I'm breathing. I didn't come this far just to let this world rot."
Maurice nodded slowly. "That's why we trust you, man. Just… don't let it eat you alive in there."
Jenkins offered a faint, humorless smile and lifted his bowl. "Too late for that."
The last of the bowls clattered onto the tray with a hollow clang. "I got dishes," Lucas said, already gathering the plates. "You girls cooked. Fair's fair."
Taylor raised an eyebrow, but Elena just shrugged. "Suit yourself."
As the group began filtering out, David lingered, snatching a cup off the table and giving Lucas a teasing smirk. "Look at you. All domestic. What's next—sewing aprons?"
Lucas shot him a sharp look. "Keep talking. I'll hand you a sponge."
David laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Alright, alright. I'll help you carry 'em over."
They stacked the trays and carried them to the utility sink in the back room. David dumped the last plate into the tub, stretched with a groan, and slapped Lucas lightly on the back. "Have fun with that, housewife."
"Get the fuck out of here," Lucas muttered.
With a grin, David disappeared. Lucas twisted the valve; the pipes groaned before a thin stream of water spilled into the deep utility tub. His mind drifted. He wasn't really thinking about the dishes. His gaze fixed somewhere past the wall, past the tub, as if the rhythm of cleaning gave him permission to wander.
He barely noticed when arms wrapped around his waist, gentle, familiar. Taylor rested her chin on his shoulder, voice soft. "Talk to me."
Lucas closed his eyes, leaning into her warmth for a fraction longer than he intended. "It's nothing."
"Mmm," she murmured against his back. "You forget I know your brand of 'nothing'? You've barely said two words all morning."
He didn't answer at first, finishing the last plate in the drying rack. Then he turned, wrapping his arms around her.
She looked up, waiting. Lucas's jaw shifted. "It's Yve."
She blinked. "What about her?"
"Something about her… it's not just odd anymore, Tay. It's off. She's trying too hard to act normal, but half of it doesn't land."
Taylor stayed quiet, listening.
"I heard her yesterday," he continued, voice low. "She said she hates hiding. Dylan told her to avoid questions. That they'll 'tell us the truth' eventually."
Taylor's brow furrowed. "You sure?"
"I heard it clear." Lucas exhaled through his nose. "They're keeping something big from us. And Dylan's covering for her."
Taylor didn't speak; she just tightened her arms around his waist. Lucas rested his forehead against hers, heavy with unspoken thoughts. "Something's up with her," he murmured.
Taylor pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "I believe you," she said gently. "I've my own doubts too."
Lucas blinked, surprised. "You do?"
She nodded. "You weren't in the kitchen this morning. She made the soup." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She emptied the salt jar into the pot. And then—she ate it. Like it was nothing."
Lucas's brow furrowed.
"She finished the whole bowl. Didn't even flinch. Elena and I nearly choked on one spoonful." Her voice softened. "But she said it was perfect."
He exhaled, tension deepening in his shoulders. "That's not normal."
"I know," she said softly. "But then I see her with the kids… and it's hard to know what to feel. Have you seen Tyler when she's around? He's lively again. Chattering."
Lucas nodded slowly, jaw clenched.
"He sounds like before," Taylor continued, "before the outbreak. And Lily… she's opening up again. Smiling. Playing. That doesn't happen around just anyone."
Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "I've seen it. I get it. But I can't shake what I heard. Dylan and Yve… they're hiding something. He's protecting her, and she's afraid. That's not nothing."
Taylor touched his arm gently. "You think she's dangerous?"
"I don't know." His jaw tightened. "I don't want to believe it. But this place… it only works if we're honest. If we're safe."
He looked down, then back at her, voice low. "I just want you safe, Tay. Tyler safe. That's all that matters to me."
Taylor rested her head against his chest again. "Then we stay sharp. Together."
Lucas held her tighter. The hum of the generator filled the silence, but the weight between them lingered—heavy, unresolved, and very real.
---------------------------------------------
Author's note;
Lucas heard the whispers. Taylor saw the signs. And now the questions are no longer quiet.
She's kind. She's strange. She's not what she seems.
Next chapter… someone stops watching and starts digging.